


Between these breaths

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gracefic, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael keeps visiting Adam. Adam really wishes he wouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between these breaths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grlkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grlkat/gifts), [ladyknightanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/gifts).



Adam watches the sun set from his perch on the back of the Impala. 

He thinks about grabbing a beer from his brothers, but they’re shoulder-to-shoulder on the hood, heads bent together as they rifle through the cooler of drinks between them. Adam listens to the ice slosh beneath the irritated gravel in Dean’s murmur.

Adam doesn’t want to get in between that today. He just doesn’t have the energy. He hasn’t been feeling well….

Michael alights beside him without fanfare: no sound, or lean of weight on the Impala, and the air doesn’t shift around him to signal the angel’s arrival.

Adam sighs, tension uncoiling in his chest, as a warm hand pushes up his back and curls in his hair. He shuts his eyes, lets himself be guided to lean into a solid chest. Lips press to his hair.

“You’re warm,” Michael says, voice thoughtful. His cheek presses to Adam’s forehead, and Adam grunts, non-committal. He would care if he thought his opinion could pierce through the cotton veil of whatever this was between him and the real world.

“I’m alive,” Adam says.

“You’re asleep. It’s your first day back at college tomorrow.”

Oh. It was that day already? Adam would care about it in the morning, when he didn’t feel so—

“I’ll be fine.” Adam straightens on his perch, but lolls right back into Michael’s side, and why was gravity such a _bitch_? He and gravity are going to have a stern talk in the morning when Michael isn’t tipping Adam’s head up to catch his mouth, when Adam isn’t slumping on his back at the barest nudge of Michael’s fingers, watching the angel crawl up his body.

Gravity is a bitch, but it’s probably the only thing keeping him firm against the Impala.

Adam can still hear the ice roughly stirring in that cooler.

Michael’s vessel has dark hair – he always chooses ones with dark hair, Adam wonders why. Adam’s fingers sink into the soft, short curls when Michael turns his head, kissing the inside of his wrist. He lies between Adam’s spread thighs and ruts against him lazily, denim against denim. Adam’s groan is quiet, and Michael’s mouth is typically gentle in the kisses that paint Adam’s neck.

“Let’s burn that fever out,” Michael says, or maybe Adam just imagines him saying that, because it’s classic and cheesy, and it makes him grin.

The world is bright behind his eyelids. The night sky turns to flames and, this time, Adam’s noise is not quiet. 

Michael’s vessel falls away as the angel’s pure grace reaches through and into Adam, blinding light and vibrating sound. It’s like riding the cresting waves of an ocean of fire, curling his toes and arching his back when it slams into him, banking him from all sides. He surrenders immediately, throwing his head back with a silent cry at the next crest that leaves his body singing, momentarily numb with fevered bliss.

 _Michael_ , he prays, biting his tongue when the angel finally wraps around his soul.

Here, Michael treads carefully, light and heat flaring everywhere they brush, and Adam trembles, eyes stinging from the sensation. Michal has every intention of covering him completely, inside and out, so the next time he holds fast and surges in, swells, burns, and smothers the eternal light of Adam’s soul, Adam is keening.

He can’t see. He can’t hear. He can’t breathe. A fire burns brightly in his chest, something loosens, and he shudders at the feedback when Michael pulses with the glow of strength fed from Adam’s soul.

_Don’t stop. Don’t stop._

Every time is blistering. Every time Adam feels splayed and raw, and he’s always left wanting in spite of how Michael drags him to that peak and keeps him there for several lifetimes. This is better than sex. This is Nirvana, it’s the afterlife and the most intimate form of communion. Every time Michael has to eventually withdraw, Adam feels a part of himself tearing away with the angel.

It’s agony, at the end.

“No, don’t stop,” he begs, when that moment comes.

Adam feels Michael’s flinch through his entire body. He groans when Michael crushes him down, one last time, but hurts even more when the angel finally lifts himself, easing out of every pore and dip in Adam’s form. 

“Your fever’s broken,” Michael says, flesh and blood once more, and Adam mourns the simple hands that hold his face. Even Michael’s hungry kiss pales by comparison.

Adam doesn’t say anything. His fingers curl in Michael’s shirt.

_Don’t stop. Don’t go away again, just don’t --_

There’s no point. 

“He’s waiting for you,” Michael says, quietly.

Adam wants to hit him.

Before he has the chance to act on it, Adam blinks awake on his pillow. It’s damp under his cheek, his eyes are stinging and puffy. Adam swallows all misgivings as he turns under the sheets to burrow into the other warm body with a quiet sob.

Sam stirs out of his dreams with a confused noise. He was always the more controlled of the two of them. He never flailed awake from a nightmare while Adam was in his bed.

“It’s okay,” Sam murmurs, automatically. He curls around Adam, pillows Adam’s head beneath his chin without ever asking why. 

Adam can’t read the numbers on the bedside clock. It’s still dark. While they have the security of shadows, they can make things okay. Adam hopes for it every night.

It’s his first day back to school tomorrow, back to the imitation of ordinary life, and Michael just _had_ to visit.

Adam breathes in the sleepy warmth of Sam’s bare skin, nuzzling into his shoulder. He waits for his flesh to stop tingling from the phantom fires of Michael’s grace. He waits for the world to settle within Sam’s arms around him, to forget what it felt like when Michael lifted him so far and bound around his soul so tightly that Adam thought this time he might stay.

Adam wishes he’d never met Michael.

“M’okay,” he sighs into Sam’s neck, fitting a leg between his brother’s. He listens to Sam’s breaths slow, and he’s afraid to be lulled by them, even though he knows Michael won’t be waiting for him.

Sam is the one always there when Adam wakes up, breathes, drives, bleeds, shouts and lays his head down to sleep. Sam is the one who stays. 

Adam gives Sam credit that he’s only said the wrong brother’s name once. Adam doesn’t hold hard feelings.

Sam is the one who stays and Adam is the one who keeps him.


End file.
